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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/30091938">i guess it would be nice if i could touch your body</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/glitteration/pseuds/glitteration'>glitteration</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Bridgerton (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>(and want to learn to do other stuff good too), F/M, I AM SO PROUD OF THAT STUPID JOKE OKAY, a wild bisexual benedict appears, benedict bridgerton will wingman the SHIT OUT OF YOU, bless his heart his life is v stressful, colin bridgerton wishes you would all calm down just a little, eloise bridgerton has a permit for that, exit; pursued by a brother, i promise i gave me permission to remix me don't worry, okay so technically she has a paper saying she can do whatever she wants, rewrite/expansion of an earlier work, season one AU, simon basset’s school for virgins who can’t sex good, so same difference really, splitting off after the Great Masturbation Conversation, super gentle fancy people dirty talk, the incredible adventures of two dopes who are definitely not in love they swear, these tags are my magnum opus i shall ascend no higher, this is ridiculous i am so sorry, violet bridgerton is categorically speaking Better Than You, whereas anthony bridgerton is... he is trying really hard okay, will someone please get daphne a copy of our bodies ourselves</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-03-16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-03-16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-15 21:42:41</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>8,649</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/30091938</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/glitteration/pseuds/glitteration</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>the fantastic and sordid adventures of super duper sex dude simon basset and daphne bridgerton, a (delightful!) virgin who can’t drive</p><p> </p><p>OR</p><p> </p><p>a season one au where simon and daphne do a hell of a lot more talking, dirty and otherwise.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>( the gag title in my gdocs for this one is “simon basset’s school for virgins who can’t sex good”. zero lies were detected. )</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Simon Basset/Daphne Bridgerton</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>92</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>i guess it would be nice if i could touch your body</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>do not adjust your sets you're not imagining things! If you think you've seen this before it's because you have. This first chapter is roughly 90% a retread of the one-shot version of the og i guess it would be nice+its sequel I wrote back in January. They're more or less the same, just expanded and tweaked a bit in a few places.</p><p>I was originally going to write a smaller series of one-shots in similar veins for this story, but then I had one of those lightbulb moments about what I would do with a full season au instead and here we are. I'm leaving both previous fics up since I've changed enough to render them their own little separate creatures, but I've marked that series complete and this story is what I'll be updating from now on.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The night of Lady Danbury’s second ball, Daphne studies her reflection as Rose twists her hair into an elaborate crown of curls and ribbon, a deep blue edged with silver glinting as bright as diamonds that sparkle in her ears and around her neck. She narrows her eyes, the woman in the mirror narrows her own back, and try as she might Daphne can’t find anything to indicate either of them have cracked the door and put a foot past the threshold of a thoroughly forbidden world for an unmarried woman.</p><p>“You don’t like it, miss?”</p><p>“Hmm?” Daphne wrenches her gaze from her own features, finally noticing Rose’s increasing concern. “Oh, no. No, I love it. Everything is perfect. Thank you, Rose.” With some effort she smoothes out her frown. Her hair <em>is</em> lovely. Rose needs not doubt herself.</p><p>“I could try again…” Rose shakes her head. “Another ribbon, if the blue doesn’t suit? I suppose I could use flowers...”</p><p>“Do not think of changing a thing. I adore every detail.” Daphne meets her eyes in the mirror and smiles reassuringly. “The other ladies already wish to steal you away from me, and tonight will do nothing but enhance their jealousy.”</p><p>“Well.” Her cheeks pinking, Rose shrugs off the praise though ill-concealed pride suffuses her smile. “I have a fair hand with arrangements, is all. They couldn’t hire me off if they tried, neither.” With one last tug at a wayward curl, she straightens. “I’ll leave you to your thoughts, miss.”</p><p>Daphne returns to frowning, tilting her head this way and that as she examines herself anew. It seems entirely impossible that last night’s discovery has not altered her reflection; the world is subtly yet irrevocably changed, and still she looks no different.</p><p>The change must be inside, too deep to be seen—perhaps even too deep to be controlled, an even more foreboding prospect to consider.</p><p>Daphne knows she must do all she can to avoid giving Simon any indication she had taken his whispered advice. He will be smug, so <em>terribly</em> smug, and he will only take it as encouragement to continue saying such scandalous things to her.</p><p>The wicked delight she cannot help but take in the shocking things he says is irrelevant—she is resolved to ignore it. They shall carry on as they have, in shared good faith and pretense. The husband she seeks must eventually present himself, and he will be the one to show her the things that follow what happens at night. <em>He</em> will bring her to the pinnacle Simon spoke of.</p><p>The odd disquiet that follows thinking of marrying this yet to be discovered man does not signify. It cannot signify. She has no choice but to marry, and Simon has expressed his disdain for the sacrament often enough. She must, he will not. And thus, any dissatisfaction must settle into place and resign itself, as she must resign herself to a great many things.</p><p>Including the constant presence of her newly self-appointed shadow. Anthony is in attendance tonight as he has been every night of late, glowering from a corner when Simon claims his second dance. She does not see Anthony shove Benedict her way, but his face as he leads her to the floor tells the story well enough.</p><p>Benedict is a fine dancer. All her brothers are, mother would not countenance otherwise. But after dancing with Simon… Benedict is her brother. He does not hold her a touch too close. He does not smile as if he knows all her secrets, and he does not make her heart race.</p><p>“Daph? Daph, are you feeling alright?” Benedict’s brow furrows in gentle concern. “You seem a world away, sister. I hope I have not proved too terrible a partner.”</p><p>“No. No, you are a delightful partner,” Daphne reassures him earnestly. “It is only…”</p><p>“Only that unless I miss the mark, and I am fairly certain I have not,” he says, so smugly Daphne trods upon his foot in revenge. “You’ll have to put more force into it to get me to stop. As I was saying, I would guess the problem is that I am not the partner you would like to be delighting. Perhaps you long for someone more… ducal?” He tilts his chin towards Simon, ignoring her hissed admonishment. “Dashingly handsome, a little bit rakish…”</p><p>“<em>Benedict</em>!” They spin away. On the next turn back Daphne follows his advice, putting her full weight on his toes under the guise of a missed step.</p><p>“Better,” Benedict winces. “Much better.”</p><p>“Thank you,” Daphne says serenely, giving him her best drawing room smile.</p><p>“Peace, sister, lay down your arms.” His voice softens. “You know, no one would blame you for finding him attractive. Myself least of all.” Stealing another look at the corner where Simon watches them, Benedict chuckles. “No, I most certainly do not blame you. He cuts a fine figure, and I am not too proud to claim otherwise. I know we all look quite alike, but I am not Anthony.”</p><p>“No, you are <em>not</em>,” she says, thinking of Nigel Berbrooke and feeling another surge of frustration down to her toes. “And in this moment, I could not be more grateful for that.”</p><p>Benedict looks over at their eldest brother, a hovering presence fixated on Simon now that he thinks she is safely tucked away with another Bridgerton male. He laughs again, softly. “Go easy on him, hmm? You know he tries.”</p><p>“He tries too hard. And he does not listen enough,” Daphne says darkly.</p><p>“Well, that is also true. Not much of one for a lark these days, our Anthony. Which reminds me, we were talking about your duke.”</p><p>“He is not my duke,” Daphne corrects, a beat too late to be convincing.</p><p>“Oh? You might want to tell him that. He is positively enraptured with you, sister.” Daphne tries to hide the pleasure that erupts to hear him labelled as such, but Benedict’s smile says she has missed the mark entirely. “I would wager he has not looked away from you once since you left his arms.”</p><p>Oh, how Daphne longs for that to be true. “We are enjoying each other’s company, that is all,” she insists, pushing that same bitter unrest from thinking about a husband who is not Simon back into its box. “Do not tell mother, but I doubt we shall make a match.”</p><p>“If you insist.” The music sounds the familiar notes that signal their dance will soon come to an end, and Benedict shoots her a sly smile. “Does that mean if I were to distract our well-meaning but entirely overbearing brother so that you might take a walk with him, you would not take the chance?”</p><p>“I…” Daphne’s breath catches. “Would you, Benedict? Truly?”</p><p>“Of course. You leave this to me, sister.” He pauses, a small frown marring his mischievous air. “You will be careful, Daph? I feel I should ask, if I am to enable this sort of misbehavior.”</p><p>“Of course.”</p><p>“Then it is settled. How foolish of me to even consider otherwise. You have always had a good head on your shoulders, we all know it. Anthony will remember that. Eventually.” He bows elaborately, murmuring as he rises, “Head for the terrace. I can keep him occupied while you make your escape.”</p><p>“How will Simon—I mean, how should the duke know—”</p><p>“Daph, trust me. If a man is looking at you like that… where you go, he will follow. Now, wish me luck. Time to beard the proverbial lion in his den.”</p><p>The night air is cool on the terrace. It makes her wish for her shawl, but there is only so much that can be done to put Anthony off following her like a hound baying for the hunt now that he believes Simon is courting her. If she attempts to retrieve it, he will see her, and then she will not be allowed to speak to Simon again, not after two dances. Anthony might go so far as to drag her off the floor himself and court scandal, should they attempt a third. It is not too cold out to be borne, not after she sits on the sheltered bench helpfully set in a recess away from the doors, so that those who linger outside may take advantage of precious extra moments to scramble apart if need be.</p><p>The thought of that—of what couples do, on benches such as these, of what she and Simon could do on <em>this</em> bench—</p><p>Her next inhale is shaky. Her gloves shine white in the dark and she stares at them, watching her hands make fists and relax as the little she knows about what happens past the stolen kisses between children too young to understand what kissing would one day lead to runs through her mind.</p><p>Daphne is still examining her hands when it happens so she does not see Simon exit the ballroom, but she feels him like the promise of rain in the air before a storm bursts. She knows he is there. She could not stop if she tried.</p><p>“Am I imagining things, or did your other brother just drag Anthony off by the ear so that we might have a moment alone together?” He comes to a stop by her side. “Is this a hidden rendezvous, Daphne? <em>My</em>. What an accommodating brother you have. I suppose Anthony must take after the family mule, and Benedict your lovely mother?”</p><p>“That is my brother you are talking about, sir.” She cannot hold a serious face, not when she is still too put out with Anthony to waste precious seconds of their time alone on defending his honor. “You <em>are</em> scandalous. Perhaps I told him I needed to take the air. The ballroom is stifling, do you not think so? Lady Danbury must be pleased, it will be all Whistledown talks of tomorrow.”</p><p>“I think…” Simon sits beside her, nearly touching, so close he would be able to sense the rapid beat of her heart if only he cared for such things. “That I do not want to talk about Lady Danbury.”</p><p>He truly is an impossible man. She does not tap her foot impatiently, but it is a near thing. “Then what do you want to talk about?”</p><p>The air between them becomes heavier with his pause, spinning around the mere breath still between their bodies like invisible hands attempting to catch hold of one another and bridge the gap. Perhaps it is only foolish, wishful thinking, but it seems to Daphne he is as caught up as she is in their pull. “Did you do it?”</p><p>“Did I do it?” she repeats, bemused. “Did I do what?”</p><p>“Did you touch yourself, the way we spoke about?” Daphne gasps, and he chuckles. “You did. You do not need to deny it, I will not reproach you. There is no shame in such an act. Only pleasure. The <i>greatest</i> sort of pleasure, when performed correctly.”</p><p>“I…” She is entirely overwhelmed. She no longer needs a shawl; she is so warm her dress may burst into flame if Simon continues to say these things. “<em>Simon</em>.”</p><p>“Daphne. Sweet girl.” He strokes one finger over her shoulder. The touch burns through her gown and down to the skin and below to her blood, blood that sings of something dangerous he might do for her. Something… primal. Instinctive.</p><p>She should be frightened. She is not. She is something else entirely, something she has not yet been given a name for.</p><p>“<em>Simon</em>,” Daphne says again, and she does not recognize the woman who speaks with her voice. That woman knows what these feelings mean, she must, for she is not asking Simon to explain these things to her; she is <em>demanding</em>.</p><p>He makes a low, tight sound that calls to something low in her in return. “Tell me, Daphne. Did you find that pleasure when you touched yourself?”</p><p>“Yes.” The world wavers a bit on each inhale, the lights in the garden swaying on their own as if she has had too much champagne. “<em>Oh</em>,” she whispers, breath coming faster. “Simon, I…”</p><p>“Tell me what you did.” Simon sounds gruff, but the woman who has stolen her throat and spoken for her knows it is not because he is angry. “Where did you touch yourself? When you were alone in your bed, no one there to see you. No one to judge, just... what you want. What feels best. Did you touch yourself between your legs, Daphne? Like I told you to?”</p><p>“Y-yes.” The same heat she’d felt alone in bed grows again in her belly, and the strange embarrassing outpouring of wet, thin slick begins to pool at her center and make itself known when she shifts restlessly, all at once unable to be still. “And my breasts.”</p><p>“Oh, you brilliant thing,” Simon breathes out, shifting restlessly himself. His knee brushes her own, and after a tense moment he does not pull it away. Instead, he leans into the point of contact, pressing closer. “Over your nightclothes, Daphne? Or did you slip your hand beneath? It feels much better that way, darling. Warm skin on warm skin… skin as soft as yours, I…” He coughs, breaking off suddenly, voice thick as though he inhales steam and not air. “Tell me, please? I know I should not ask, but… I need…”</p><p>“Yes,” she breathes out, and cannot believe she has done it. Something about the dark and the night and his voice, the way he is so close and in this moment, so absolutely <em>wonderful</em>. All of a sudden she feels as though she could laugh. “Simon, I… I feel…”</p><p>“I know. And I—” He falls silent, breathing so loud it becomes all she can hear. "You should do that again tonight. And when your hand is between your thighs, where you need to be touched most…” She hears his throat click on a long swallow. “If you like, you can slip a finger inside yourself. Two, if you find pleasure in that, as well.”</p><p>“In-inside?” She frowns, attempting to imagine the mechanics of such a thing. She must wash and relieve herself—she is not a complete fool as to what lays between her thighs, but neither had she been brave enough to explore past what is needed to perform those most necessary functions before Simon encouraged her to do so. “That will not hurt?”</p><p>“Were you wet?”</p><p>“Was I…” Daphne startles. “I beg your pardon?”</p><p>“That night.” Simon sounds like a man in pain, each word carefully shaped and doled out in precise, terse syllables. “Were you wet, between your legs?”</p><p>“...oh.” Instinctively, Daphne knows this is another thing she is meant to be shamed by, like her courses or breasts or the mortification men feel upon the mention of such topics. And yet… Simon does not seem mortified, and when she tries to grasp at the required shame it slips time and time through her fingers. “Yes. Is <em>that</em> why that happens? I thought perhaps something was wrong.”</p><p>“The things they do not teach you girls... “ He shakes his head. “Yes, darling. That is your body readying itself. If a man is worth being made a husband, he will pay special attention to that.” His voice becomes lower, soft like velvet. “You must be slow at first. Gentle with yourself, until you yield and your body welcomes being filled.”</p><p>“And then?”</p><p>“Daphne…”</p><p>“Simon. When my… when I have put… after that. When I have done it. What should I do then?”</p><p>“Whatever you like. Anything that brings you pleasure.”</p><p>“I don’t <em>know</em> what brings me pleasure, that is at the root of the problem. Simon, please.” She seizes hold of his sleeve. “Please, tell me. When I have…” she inhales, gathering the courage to repeat his instructions. “When I have put my fingers inside myself, and I… once my body yields. What do I do then?” Simon licks his lips and Daphne follows the motion with rapt attention, heartbeat so loud in her own ears she thinks half-hysterically that everyone inside must be able to hear. Let them hear, let them judge and chatter amongst themselves. She does not <em>care</em>. “Please, Simon. Tell me what I do then.”</p><p>“Daphne?” Anthony’s voice is as bracing as a basin of cold water tossed over them both. Daphne pulls her knee away from Simon’s and he stands just as both her brothers round the corner. Benedict looks harried but that likely has nothing to do with her, for Anthony looks downright apoplectic and strains at Benedict’s calming hand on his shoulder.</p><p>“Sister.” He grimaces, grinding his back teeth in the furious way he has taken up of late. “Hastings. I believe mother is looking for you, Daphne. Time to come inside.” He looks again at Simon, and though his words are directed at Daphne it is clear she is not the one he is speaking to. “<em>Now</em>. With me.”</p><p>“Of course, brother.” She takes his extended arm under the guise of politeness, but her knees are still so weak she is not sure she can stand. He relaxes minutely when she does, unbending from his lofty position enough to give her a soft look of brotherly concern. The glimpses of the gentle boy he had been when father was alive come too rarely, now, and it serves well enough to cool her ire along with her ardor. “It is time for it, as I believe the air has much refreshed me.”</p><p>“<em>Hmm</em>,” Anthony says, as though he does not like even the idea of air infringing upon his right to interrupt the most important moments of his siblings’ lives with very little regard for how much one of those siblings in particular needs to understand what happens after a woman… she cannot think it in plain terms, not with Anthony standing there. “Well then. Shall we?”</p><p>It is clear enough Anthony would prefer she did not say goodbye at all, but to leave without saying anything feels cruel. Simon is watching Anthony, but his eyes fly to her with gratifying speed when she addresses him. “Thank you for the lovely conversation, Your Grace. I do hope we shall be able to continue it soon? I must know what comes next in that fascinating story you were telling me.”</p><p>“I do not know what the two of you are talking about,” Anthony says abruptly, “but I know I do not like it. Hastings, do not answer her. Daphne, <em>inside</em>.”</p><p>“Do not forget to call on me tomorrow,” she tosses over her shoulder as Anthony uses their linked arms to tug her away and back into the ballroom. “We have a great many things left to discuss!”</p><p>Simon does not answer; or if he does, it is lost in the hushed roar of the party. But it does not matter. Mother saves her from Anthony, and the rest of the night is little more than a blur.</p><p>Before she marries, Simon <em>will</em> tell her what happens next. She is sure of it.</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>Much to Daphne’s dismay, Simon is unable to say anything else of note when he calls. Anthony seats himself mere inches away and makes it clear he will not be budged by any force short of the Almighty himself, commanding Anthony away with all His glory.</p><p>Any hope Anthony will lose interest is soon dashed upon the rocks of his constant presence. He does not <em>lose</em> interest, no. Instead, he can be described as nothing less than bloodyminded in his quest to discover the finer details of what precisely passed between Daphne and Simon on the terrace. He abandons his own lodgings entirely, preferring to reside at the family home at all hours of the day so that he may haunt her every step and repeat his interrogations with increasing intensity.</p><p>It becomes intolerable enough she begins to pointedly exit any room he enters. Delivering him the cut direct in private is the least of the matter, though it serves to vent her frustration nicely. No, she must avoid Anthony to spare herself blotchy, unnatractive flushes that only serve to prolong his dogged interest in the matter.</p><p>Her resolve to press the matter only solidifies with each attempt. The dilemma is clear: she has no immediate path at hand to the information most pertinent to what she might expect in the marriage bed. Mother will only offer strange metaphors about rain and fields and flowers. Anthony will not tell her what she needs to know, even if she thought she could bear to hear it from him. Colin likely cannot explain as thoroughly as she needs, and Eloise has already made her own ignorance a matter of family debate. Benedict might well give her a bit more information than she has already managed to pry from him when mother cannot hear, but not the details. The details are at the heart of the matter. It is the details that define the act.</p><p>Benedict soon removes himself from consideration for advice on the general shape of life to come as well, however more helpfully inclined he may be. When she approaches him all he will offer is a vague ‘<em>you’ll see, Daph. The man you marry will set all your fears at ease, or Anthony and I shall simply pound him into proper shape for you</em>’. However well-meant the sentiment, his contribution does nothing to help Daphne adequately prepare or clarify any of her many uncertainties. No matter: if he will not provide her with what she needs, he has proved himself a helpful intermediary between Daphne and the one person capable of rendering assistance on the matter of the ever-elusive details.</p><p>And so, the night of the Blydon’s dinner party, Daphne does not wait for Benedict to volunteer his services. It is <em>imperative</em> she learn what Simon had been about to tell her before Anthony’s interruption.</p><p>“You must distract Anthony again for me. I need to speak with the duke <em>alone</em>, and he makes that entirely impossible.”</p><p>“Oh? Must I?” Benedict straightens a bit from his slouch against the parlor wall. “Such an impetuous demand from my most proper sister. This certainly is out of character for you, Daph. Anthony would not be running half so mad if Eloise were out and seeking time alone with a suitor.”</p><p>“Do not pretend to disapprove. I did not ask at Lady Danbury’s, <em>you</em> offered, and now I find I would like you to offer again.” Daphne crosses her arms over her chest, too irritated to consider the possibility of creasing her gown. Her assumed unwavering practicality and adherence to the rules that dictate the structure of all their lives may be the very thing that gives Benedict so little pause in helping her carry out these misadventures, but that does not mean she enjoys hearing it spoken in such plain, unflattering terms. Especially when matched against Eloise’s irrepressible spirit. “Tell me. Are you willing to assist me or will you force me to find Colin and ask him?”</p><p>“How could I not help? It does me proud to see you join the rest of us heathens in flaunting the rules a bit.” He hesitates, tapping one finger against her shoulder with affectionate concern. “As long as it is just a bit? You know I trust you. I know <em>you</em> can always be counted upon to be careful, but if Hastings does something he cannot take back, I should sleep poorly indeed thinking I was the cause of it.”</p><p>“You know I would never allow him any improprieties. He is merely… instructive.”</p><p>Somehow, Benedict does not spot the falsehood, though Daphne feels it surely must be written across her face with a pen as sharp as Whistledown’s.</p><p>“Instructive, she says. Well, then. If you are sure, I will leave you to your lessons. Anthony!” He raises his voice, loud enough to call eyes their way. “Brother, I need a word.” Then, with a clumsiness Daphne might believe was real herself if not for the wicked smile Benedict gives her beforehand, he tilts his champagne glass and sends what remains inside spilling out to splash her skirts. “Look at that. Dreadfully sorry, sister. It seems you will need to retrieve your wrap so that we might escort you home. You must be quite upset with me, I should think.”</p><p>“My gown! Oh, Benedict, how could you. Look what you have done, it will be <em>ruined</em>. I must go, I cannot stay like this.” Daphne obligingly pretends anger, quickening her pace away from him as if embarrassed by his behavior.</p><p>Shooting her a wink, Benedict places an arm around Anthony’s back as she leaves the room and prevents him from attaching himself to her side once again. Nattering on about something to do with coal prices, he propels them both into a portly man wearing a heavily embroidered waistcoat. Lord Cowper, possessed of a sense of self as grand as his taste in fashion, can always be depended upon to pontificate on the future of the markets given even the slightest indication of interest. Sometimes it does not even take that, and Benedict’s bait already has him red in the face.</p><p>Rather than retrieve her wrap, Daphne veers towards the entrance hall. The Blydons do not open their home often, and only to their intimates. The assembled guests would dream of leaving so unfashionably early, not after receiving such a coveted invitation. The champagne will be veil enough to excuse her absence, once Whistledown writes of it, but she can be sure the only interruption will be Anthony’s inevitable entrance for hours yet.</p><p>She does not need hours. She only needs wait a few breathless moments at the base of the front staircase before familiar footsteps announce Simon’s presence. His haste to return to her side stirs the same strange tightening in her midsection as their discussions of marital life had. It is not pride, nor affection; she cannot put a name to the ache, but it is <em>intoxicating</em>.</p><p>“We find ourselves alone again.” Simon comes to a stop at her elbow, angling his body so he hides her body from immediate sight of anyone else wandering away from the dining room. “Your brother seems to have rather... fortuitous timing. If I were a suspicious man, I might think he upended his glass out of more than mere clumsiness.”</p><p>“You would not need to be suspicious to entertain such theories, your grace. Merely observant.”</p><p>“I thought we agreed we would dispense with such formalities. Simon.”</p><p>Her traitor heart begins to leap at the flirtatious note to his voice. “Merely observant, <em>Simon</em>,” Daphne amends tartly, though the effect is surely spoiled by the silly grin she cannot push away.</p><p>“Much better. So it was no accident your skirts met with their terrible fate?” At her nod of confirmation, satisfaction with his own acumen suffuses his tone. “I rather thought so.”</p><p>“My, how clever you are,” Daphne murmurs, and his admiring glance sends a little shock through her body, like the crackle of fingertips set to metal when the weather is dry.</p><p>“You <em>are</em> a sharp tongued little thing when you care to be.” From anyone else, the words would not have the ring of a compliment. Simon, however, sounds nothing but pleased. “Now why, exactly, would your brother do such a thing on purpose?”</p><p>“Because I asked him to,” Daphne admits frankly, acutely aware of the clock ticking away the precious time Benedict gifted them by delaying Anthony’s ferocious devotion to interrupting important conversations.</p><p>“You asked him to pretend to be a bumbler?” Simon studies her intently, as though she were some fascinating specimen trapped under glass in order to be memorized, feature by feature. “I should not pretend to know what the gown did to deserve such rough handling.”</p><p>“No, of course I did not ask him to do <em>exactly</em> that. I adore this gown.” Instinctively, she reaches up to smooth a hand down the intricate swirls of dark green beadwork on the edges of the bodice and thrills as Simon follows the motion with what she would like to flatter herself is rapt attention. "It is merely... a casualty of war, you might call it."</p><p>“It is a truly lovely gown. A sacrifice, indeed,” he muses absently, his focus clearly turned inward as he twists her words this way and that to draw out their hidden meanings. “Then I suppose my question should be if you did not ask him to empty his glass on your skirts, what <em>did</em> you ask him to do?”</p><p>“I told him to distract Anthony so I might have a moment alone with you. The champagne was entirely unexpected.” She might have preferred some other ruse, given time to think of it, but Benedict’s efficiency cannot be denied.</p><p>"Are we again in battle, my lady? Even now, when we are alone together?" Simon takes a step closer, eyes intent on her own. “You could not guarantee I would follow. He might have ruined your beautiful gown, and it would be all for nothing.”</p><p>“But you did follow me,” Daphne points out sensibly. “And I do not care about the gown, not if you…”</p><p>“Not if I?” The distance between them is well within the bounds of propriety. No one but the most vicious gossips would fault them, but the low timbre of his voice makes Daphne feel as though she stands directly within the circle of his arms.</p><p>“Not if you explain what comes after I slide my fingers inside myself.” The words do not trip over her tongue this time, but the blotchy red flush she so despises takes up residence in her cheeks. “You did not tell me what I should do next.”</p><p>“<em>Daphne</em>,” Simon groans. He rocks back on his heels, holding up his hands in frustrated supplication. “You do not know what you are asking of me.”</p><p>“I am only asking for an explanation. Surely there is nothing wrong with that.” Nothing worse than their previous transgressions, but that argument seems unlikely to sway him. A slight overstatement is a small sin weighed against his refusal.</p><p>“It is an explanation I should not give you.” He winces, gritting his teeth against whatever he wants to say next. “It is not… honorable.”</p><p>“Please, Simon.” Common sense says Daphne ought to be grateful for his unexpected display of gentlemanly delicacy, but she finds only mounting despair. “No one else will explain this to me. And as you are not courting me, only attempting to help me find a good match with a man who does wish to marry me, it only follows that you help me with the… other aspects of <em>having</em> a husband, once I have found him.”</p><p>“Oh, it most certainly does not follow.” Simon’s laugh is incredulous. “You should take the opportunity to flee I’ve offered and be glad of it.”</p><p>“And why is that?” Daphne purses her lips, sensing his resolve might snap if only she sees this fight through to its end. “I do not see any reason why you cannot continue to explain these things to me.”</p><p>“Then you are mistaken, for there are a vast many reasons we should not allow ourselves to dwell on the subject. Top of mind is that your small army of brothers would not look kindly upon my further involvement in your education on such matters. I shudder to imagine their idea of a proper punishment.” An unfamiliar expression twists his features—guilt, Daphne realizes. “And more importantly, I have already overstepped.”</p><p>"My brothers do not make my choices for me, no matter their protestations to the contrary.” Victory remains just out of reach. She had not anticipated needing to spend their precious time together on convincing such an avowed rake to assist her further education in matters where everyone knew rakes had particular expertise. Her voice sharpens in frustration. “You could only have overstepped if I did not wish you to speak to me of such things, and you cannot say I have not made my interest in the subject and your tutelage perfectly clear. It cannot be overstepping the mark when it is <em>exactly</em> what I wish to discuss."</p><p>“Daphne, this... teaching you these things—it is not <em>for</em> me," Simon says, voice strained. “It is for the man you marry.” He places a hand on the bannister, fingers digging tight into the wood and turning his knuckles white. “The man you love, who loves you. Teaching you these things must be his office, not mine. I am merely… a stepping stone.”</p><p>“Oh, but you are so much more than that!” Daphne is startled by the passion in her own voice. She coughs, all at once rendered off-balance by the immediate vehemence on a sentiment she had not known she already held dear. “What I mean to say is, you are the only one who does not treat me like I am still a child. You are the only one who will help me prepare for something I am meant to spend the rest of my life doing.” He opens his mouth to deny her again and she swiftly cuts him off, half-mad with the need to secure his agreement. “Simon, <em>please</em>. I need you.”</p><p>A muscle in his jaw bunches and then releases, and Daphne wishes she might freeze time itself to allow her long enough that she might finally be able to translate what his body says that his words will not.</p><p>“I surrender,” Simon says after a long pause, sounding a bit dazed. “Any resistance I might put up pales in the face of such an eloquent plea.”</p><p>“So the terms of our arrangement are agreeable? You will explain what comes next?”</p><p>“Yes. But this cannot be… I can only <em>explain</em> these things, Daphne. It cannot go further than that. Before we go forward, you must tell me you understand that.”</p><p>“You assume <em>I</em> want more than instruction, for you have made it more than clear that you do not wish to be married. Let me put your fears to rest: I am no threat to your virtue.” Daphne places her own hand on the bannister, only a hairsbreadth from his own. “You must see this is the perfect solution. If I were to ask a man who wanted more from me, it would not be… it could be taken as an encouragement I do not wish to offer. You do not wish to be encouraged, so I am in no danger. I do not wish to encourage, so <em>you</em> are in no danger. We are a perfectly matched pair.”</p><p>He murmurs something under his breath she cannot catch, but it most certainly does <em>not</em> sound like a deserved compliment on her fine sense of economy and a well-crafted argument.</p><p>“I beg your pardon? You must speak up for this to work, Your Grace.” Perhaps if she speaks to him as they do while trading witticisms on the ballroom floor, he will remember himself and give her the cursed answer at long last. “It <em>is</em> your words I require in this portion of our endeavor, as we have discussed at length already.”</p><p>“It was nothing meant for your ears. Merely pondering aloud how best to proceed.” Simon continues to look out the doorway, not at her, but she can feel the full weight of his attention pressing down on her like a caress all its own. “Well, then. If we are to resume where we left off…” He releases a long breath. “I believe we were speaking of what you might do when simply touching is not enough to satisfy. What did you do that night? If I am to explain the matter as thoroughly as you desire, I must have a thorough understanding of the proceedings myself.”</p><p>“I already <em>told</em> you,” she protests, flush rising again. “You know. Do not pretend otherwise.”</p><p>“If you cannot say what you did, how can I teach you what comes next?” Whatever turmoil plagued him has faded away, replaced knowing eyes and a smug little twist to his smile.</p><p>“I may not understand the marital act,” Daphne digs her heels in, chasing the strange crackling tension that rises between them when she meets Simon’s intellect with her own. “But I know very well I can sit and play a tune at the pianoforte without announcing it to the room before I do so.”</p><p>“You should not be discomfited when speaking about these things, you know.” For a moment, Daphne thinks he will reach out to comfort her, but he only waves a hand in the air as if to ward off her unease. “Not about what you have done… or what you want to do. Desire is not a sin, Daphne, and shame about those desires is no great virtue.” There is something sharp in his next words, though Daphne cannot think the raw edge of anger is directed at her. “If you must, consider it practice for this paragon of husbandly virtue you seek.”</p><p>“He would not… look down upon me? For being so bold.” Simon’s words are shockingly easy to believe in these suspended moments alone, but they are so rarely alone.</p><p>“If he is a worthwhile man…” Simon’s gaze catches her own and holds. Heat pulses in Daphne’s veins, turning her blood sticky and sweet as sap. “He will lower himself to his knees and give thanks to God for your boldness.” He glances downward, taking in her skirts with a heat even she can clearly read. “Among other, more interesting things.”</p><p>Though Daphne finds herself at an utter loss as to what a husband might do on his knees that could possibly have any relevance to marital congress, Simon does not bear the look of a man contemplating chaste interactions.</p><p>“<em>Oh</em>,” she breathes, unable to find a witty reply and prove herself unaffected. “Well then.”</p><p>Perhaps it is only the product of a still half-buried hope, but Simon does not seem entirely unaffected himself. If only he would move his hand, they would be touching. If he would touch her, she might know the truth. Even through her glove, Daphne can feel the heat of his skin.</p><p>“Tell me what you did, Daphne,” he asks again, gentle instead of smug. “Consider it part of our lessons.”</p><p>“I put my fingers inside myself.” Though her voice still shakes, she meets Simon’s eyes.</p><p>“How many?”</p><p>“One,” he nods and before he can continue she admits in a rush, “But then two.”</p><p>“That’s my brave girl. Did it feel good? To feel yourself begin to soften. To let your body mold itself to the intrusion, welcoming it in. It will be as such with your husband.” On the bannister, his grip tightens, knuckles going white. “But enough of a husband you do not yet have. What else did you do? Once you had relaxed around your lovely fingers, what then?”</p><p>“I… I did not know what came next, so I stopped and returned to what you explained the first time, but it was not…” Daphne struggles to explain the frustration she felt. A maze stands before her, secrets unlocked and waiting to be discovered, if only she had a map to its hidden center. “I missed having something… inside me, but simply leaving them there did not...”</p><p>“<em>Daphne</em>.” He releases his grip on the stairs and steps away, keeping his back to her until he speaks again and even then he seems to look just past her, as though looking at her directly pains him. “Tonight. Move your fingers, tonight.”</p><p>His words provide more than enough distraction from his odd reticence to meet her eyes. “Move them? I do not see what you mean.”</p><p>He catches his lower lip between his teeth and Daphne has to stifle a small moan. “Within yourself. In and out, as fast or slow as you like. Stroke yourself, inside, find the places that make you bite your lip to keep from crying out.”</p><p>“<em>Simon</em>.”</p><p>“You would not want the other to hear, would you? Not when you feel so wonderful, and you are so close to tipping off the edge and into bliss.”</p><p>“<em>Oh</em>. And what then? After I have quieted myself, what do I do then?” She does not feel so invincible now. Her heart flutters like a small, trapped thing in a cage, and his voice is quiet but still pushes itself to the fore, drowning out any other sounds. She could not hear anyone else if they stood beside her and shouted in her ear, not when she can see the hand Simon fists by his side, as though he too must externalize the tension simmering between them.</p><p>“And with your other hand, you will do what you have already practiced.”</p><p>“With—even <em>while</em> my fingers are inside?” The thought of it sends a delicious shiver through her. She shifts in place, legs pressed tight together in a useless attempt to contain the growing heat that scorches places unused to the touch of fire.</p><p>“The thought of that please you?” She nods once, and Simon closes his eyes briefly. “Then yes, Daphne. <em>Especially</em> then.” He is relentless. “If you wish, you may even—”</p><p>“If she wishes she may <em>what</em>, exactly?” Displaying his most impeccably horrific sense of timing, Anthony rounds the corner with Benedict at his heels before Simon shares what it is that follows these first, simple touches. He stares at them both, brows snapping together in displeasure. “Well? Do not let me interrupt you. What may my sister do, Hastings?”</p><p>Daphne cannot speak through a throat gone entirely dry. Her chest rises and falls a touch too fast, and she is horrifyingly convinced there must be some sign upon her that she is weak kneed and as slick now as Simon promised she would be in the night. Before she has even touched herself. Before Simon has touched her, she cannot help but think.</p><p>“I—Simon, he was merely telling me…” she looks to Simon for help, utterly at a loss to provide some small fiction to explain what they might have been speaking about. She cannot tell Anthony he was telling her to do such things. Even lovely, helpful Benedict should not prove so helpful if he were to find out what sort of lessons the duke has agreed to render.</p><p>But it is all she can think about, all the same. It is all she knows. If she has ever had a thought about anything else in her life, it has entirely fled from her mind.</p><p>“That she might want to have her lady’s maid see to that gown as soon as she arrives home. Like as not it will stain, otherwise, and your sister informs me the gown is a particular favorite of hers.” Simon finishes smoothly, saving them both, and nods a cool greeting to Anthony. “Bridgerton.” He nods at Benedict in turn. “Bridgerton.”</p><p>Disgruntled, Daphne cannot help but notice he looks far more collected than she feels.</p><p>“Your Grace.” Benedict returns Simon’s greeting with a quietly amused smirk, but Anthony has no such desire to indulge in the niceties of polite society.</p><p>“Why am I not surprised to find you here, Hastings?” He smooths the front of his waistcoat, shaking off the cautious hand Benedict places upon his shoulder. “Benedict, there is no need to restrain me. I am not going to hit him. Not right now, at least. I will reconsider the matter if need be, though, so I strongly suggest he separates himself from our sister before I am forced to do it for him. <em>Now</em>, Hastings.”</p><p>"<em>Anthony</em>,” Daphne gasps, affronted. “You are entirely unkind. The duke has done nothing but speak with me. Surely you cannot find fault in a simple conversation.”</p><p>“Daphne, it is time to leave.” Anthony will not be swayed. His scowl only intensifies when she does not immediately take his arm. “I am sure the duke agrees with me.”</p><p>“How could I argue with a brother’s command?” Simon asks mockingly, his smile barbed. “You are, after all, the head of the household now.” Something passes between the two men Daphne cannot hope to understand, and Simon’s smile is challenging when he turns it on her. “Would you like to take a ride with me tomorrow morning, Miss Bridgerton? We might continue this fascinating conversation then.”</p><p>“She most certainly <em>will not</em>—”</p><p>“I would love to,” Daphne cuts neatly over him. When Anthony turns to her with eyes that communicate how little he likes it when any of them interrupt him in public, she smiles with all her teeth. “Thank you for your advice, Your Grace. About the dress. I will be sure to convey your advice to Rose.”</p><p>“It was no trouble. Until tomorrow, Miss Bridgerton.” He bows shallowly to both her brothers, and once again only Benedict bobs a lazy return. “Bridgertons.”</p><p>“Well, <em>that</em> was certainly exciting,” Benedict says, breaking the oppressive silence that blankets the hall in Simon’s wake. He yawns with high drama, stretching his arms out. “I do believe it is time for two of us to turn in. Daph, share the carriage home?”</p><p>“I do not approve of this,” Anthony announces, ignoring Benedict and leveling his gaze on Daphne. “And while I do not know <em>what</em> you two spoke of, do not think I am fooled by this nonsense about your lady’s maid.”</p><p>“You do not think I should tell her about the gown?”</p><p>“You were not speaking of the damned gown!” Anthony grits out through clenched teeth. “Keep your secrets, fine, it is clear I cannot hope to stop you. But please, sister, I wish you would not lie to me.”</p><p>“Anthony—” Daphne blanches.</p><p>“I do not like it, Daphne,” he says with dying heat. His shoulders slump as the fight leaks out of him. “You must know nothing good can come of this. So I find <em>ample</em> fault here.”</p><p>“You are too suspicious.”</p><p>“And you are not suspicious enough,” Anthony shoots back, arms crossed stubbornly over his chest in a mirror of her own defensive posture.</p><p>“I have no idea what you could mean. The duke is your friend, is he not? And you are no longer boys, unencumbered by duty. Surely you choose your closest company so wisely now, brother, that I may trust any friend of yours to be as safe as the rest of my brothers.”</p><p>They both know full well that is certainly <em>not</em> the case, but Anthony cannot protest the matter without impugning his own honor. His silent grimace acknowledges the trap she has sprung.</p><p>“She has you there, Anthony.” Benedict chuckles, lifting one shoulder in a casual shrug, nary a drop of shame in sight even when Anthony turns betrayed eyes his way. “I would not say you are the most convincing advocate for your cause, not when she’s done nothing but speak with him. It seems a touch much, even you must admit that when Daph lays it all out with such concise reasoning.”</p><p>“Do not encourage her, you. I cannot hope to stand against the combined weight.”</p><p>Daphne frowns. He is entirely aggravating, but there is a touch of something melancholy she does not like in his voice. “Anthony, is something else amiss?”</p><p>“Of course not.” He waves a hand, and the odd, unhappy tilt to his mouth is gone as if it had never been. “Benedict, I trust you will not lose her again between now and the carriage? I will see mother home safely.”</p><p>“Good night, Anthony,” Daphne shakes her head, embracing him gently. He is maddening, but he <em>is</em> her brother. He loves her, as she loves him. His intentions are good; he wants to protect her. To see her safe in a world that will not promise safety as a matter of course.</p><p>“Good night.” As they leave, he calls after them, “You were not speaking about your gown, Daph. I will find out what secret you two are guarding so stoutly.”</p><p>“Good <em>night</em>, Anthony,” she says again, and her voice is not so tolerant as before.</p><p>In the carriage, Benedict does not speak at first. He merely studies her, chin resting on his palm as he considers her face with an intense scrutiny he more often lends to his sketchpad. “He was not wrong, though, was he? Anthony, I mean.”</p><p>Daphne casts about for an explanation that will not reveal more than she should and cannot find the words. “...I—not wrong about what?” Perhaps pretending ignorance will save her. “He said a great many things tonight, I could not possibly hope to remember them all.” It is a doomed attempt at pantomime, and Benedict only laughs.</p><p>“You are a terrible liar. Nearly as bad as Anthony. Better than Colin, though, so you can cleave to that.”</p><p>“Benedict—”</p><p>“You two were not speaking of Rose,” he insists, gentle but entirely implacable. “Or if you were discussing maids, they were not the sort of maid who will be responsible for my ruse with the champagne.”</p><p>“Benedict…” Daphne does not know what to say. Words tangle on her tongue, only to fall uselessly away. He is right, of course, but even Benedict could not condone the truth of her arrangement with Simon.</p><p>“Well, now I know I’m right.” Benedict settles back in his seat, nodding with satisfaction and dropping the matter with entirely fortuitous speed. “You go redder than the rest of us combined, poor thing.”</p><p>“I do not like you very much right now.” Daphne glowers across the carriage, aggravation warring with relief in her breast. “You are meant to be <em>helping</em> me.”</p><p>“Oh, I am a most willing partner in your crimes. Taking on Anthony in high dudgeon and pretending I know a single useful thing about the futures of coal with Lord Cowper, and all for your sake.”</p><p>“Thank you for that. For all of it, brother, truly.”</p><p>“Do not mention it. Particularly to a certain someone who holds the purse strings.”</p><p>“Will you…” Daphne inhales, squaring her shoulders. “That is, if I were to need your assistance again. Perhaps regularly. Would you still be so willing?”</p><p>“That depends. Reassure me once more: Anthony is a terrible shot, and I am worse than he is, and Colin is far too young, so if one of us is forced to call Hastings out the whole thing would likely be a rout in his favor. Seems best to avoid the whole nasty business if we can.” The odd seriousness she has seen displayed in him tonight gently underlays Benedict’s jest.</p><p>“Of course.” Daphne squeezes his hand. “I would not risk our family’s reputation. The duke is merely…”</p><p>“Instructive?”</p><p>“Yes, there is that, but he is—”</p><p>“Exciting?” Benedict offers, understanding writ clear in his features.</p><p>“...well, yes.” There are a host of other words she might use that even Benedict would not approve of, but upon reflection Daphne finds his choice most apt. The time she spends in Simon’s company flies far too fast, and they never seem to find a lack of words to fill the too-brief moments when they are alone together and may discuss whatever they please.</p><p>“Then I see no reason to bend to Anthony’s tyranny on the matter. He has his bit of fun, now and again.” He kicks one leg up on the carriage seat, relaxing back against the curve of the door carefully. “Why should you not have yours?”</p><p>Anthony’s demands on her while he carries on with an opera singer he thinks they do not know about does seem a scandalous show of hypocrisy, when laid out in such a bald manner.</p><p>“Yes,” Daphne says, a satisfied smile curling her mouth. “You are entirely right, brother. Why <em>should</em> I not have my own bit of fun?”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Aaaaaand I'm back! My plan was originally to be super good at delayed gratification and wait until I had chapter three (aka, the start of entirely new content) ready to go as well, but I've had a real beast of a year thus far and wouldn't mind a hit of that good ol' "whoo hoo, people read my shit!" serotonin and I had this done so I figured what the hell, hopefully nobody minds a quick reread before we enter new territory. I should have chapter three up within the next couple days, and just to tide everyone over a quick spoiler: thanks to popular demand, Simon's POV will be entering the proverbial chat. See you guys then, and thank you for reading!</p><p>...oh yeah and as always I can be found on tumblr @ knowlesian where I still very rarely update, but I’m trying to be better about answering DMs and asks and whatnot in something approaching a reasonable space of time.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>(A quick extra thank you as well to everybody who left such sweet comments on either previous one-shot, it meant more than I can say and I feel terrible I haven't been able to reply to all of you yet. I categorically love you all so fucking much I could explode, I promise, and thank you again.</p><p>...which reminds me, same goes for everyone who commented on/is following i'll go anywhere blindly and is like "BUT WHAT ABOUT ME" I love you too and will be posting the final chapter(s? sigh. I have no self-control or chill) for that story ASAP as well.)</p>
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